A Journey Begins
by TigOBitties
Summary: Who was this hero before the adventure? A small backstory for my first ever character! Also my first post. Note- We have not officially started our campaign, so let me know if I should chronicle our adventures!


Urgutha (Urga) Trenchbear Half Orc Paladin

A frigid wind was blowing through the trees. There were no sounds beyond the faint creek of the ancient trees in the old forest and the rythmic thud of the chopping of wood. Edmond Silverhand worked diligently at his task despite the cold trying to numb his fingers. Not only did his woodsplitting provide the much needed fuel for both his hearth and forge, but it helped to distract him from his memory from the fortnight before. How he wished it to be a dream, but the scent of death and smoke along with the distant screams and yells from the distant town betrayed the very real nightmare that had occured. He had gone the next morning to help where he could, but the damage was severe. Broken buildings, broken families, broken people. But the townsfolk were strong. They would rebuild. A faint rustling broke him from his unwanted musings. Lowering his axe, he peered into the frosty brush. "Who's there?" No answer. Creeping closer, he saw a figure slumped in the snow. "Hello? Are you alright?" Slowly, the figure shakily faced him. A badly beaten female orc looked at him through her one unswollen eye. "Please," she ground out. "Help me." Slowly, he dragged her back to his cabin to try and help her. Her recovery took several weeks, but over that time he slowly heard her story. Her name was Broma Trenchbear of the Thunderclaw Clan. The very clan that had struck the town. During the raid, she admitted, she was ambushed by her own. They had heard of her dalliances with a human from another village. The Thunderclaws were a proud Clan. Proud of their strngth. Proud of their people. Proud of their purity. Her discretions were...frowned upon. They punished her most severely with fist, foot, club, and blade, but still they let her live. Dragging herself away, the Clan called out a warning. If ever they saw a Trenchbear again, the line would be stricken from this world. All of it. Edmond felt no pity for this woman with her story. Only admiration for her resilience and strength. Throughout her ordeal, she protected her unborn child from the Clan's cruel strikes, and she was determined to keep her child safe from them. He would help.

The heat from the forge was intense. The flames had to be steady and the temperature sustained to get the iron to the white hot state required to shape it. This was difficult to do when the child working the bellows kept giggling getting distracted. "Agatha, keep the bellows going! We can't let the iron cool or it will embrittle and shatter!" Edmond chided the girl behind the forge. "Sorry Pappa. I can't help it," the girl replied, once again pumping the bellows. "This stupid butterfly keeps landing on my face and tickling my nose!" Edmond looked over just in time to see the creature in question land once more on the scowling face of his ward. "Maybe it thinks you a flower?" he supposed with a smirk. Swatting at the bug and resuming her post she growled, "Maybe it's blind and stupid. Maybe I should kill it to put it from it's miseries." He gave her a look. "Would it not be more merciful to help it find a flower on which to perch?" Grunting as she worked the bellows, the girl remarked, "It would still be blind and stupis, though. How would it help to relocate it and have it continue to be blind and stupid for however long until it dies. Seems to me that, if I kill it, it's suffering will be much eased in the long run." "Well," he smiled at her, "At least your heart's in the right place." Outside the workshop, they heard the gate swing open. Edmond looked down with a grin. "Go get her then! See what she's caught today. I can handle the forge." Taking off at a run, the little girl joined her mother by the tanning shed to help tie the beast up to be cleaned and skinned. Her mother patted her head firmly with a crooked smile. "That is a good knot, Urgutha. It will hold nicely." The girl grinned. She loved how her mother said her name. Papa said she didn't say it right because her mouth was broken years ago and couldn't heal right, but she actually like her mother's way better. It made her feel special for some reason. Especially after she came back from helping Papa in town at the market. They never did it when Papa was near, but the townsfolk would pick on her quite often. Whether it be the way the baker always 'ran out' of her favorite pastry whenever she came in (she could see them behind the counter), or how the cartmen always drove just a bit too close to her (she had been knocked into more than a few puddles). How most people tended to cross the street or change their path when they saw her. The children were the worst. Rocks were thrown as often as slurs about 'her kind'. They would pull her hair, steal her things, tear her clothes. A few times, they even held her down and kicked her (She told her mother once, but she learned to not talk about it to her...) She asked Papa about why they did these things, and he said that there had been an attack several years before by a tribe of orcs, but that didn't have anything to do with her. That was several months before she was even born! So she just tried to avoid going to town when she could helped Mother with the skinning and Papa with the forge. In her free time, she enjoyed helping the sick and injured animals she found in the woods. Her Papa taught her. Binding broken tails, putting poultices over scratched ears, mixing herbs to stop the rattling in tiny lungs (a lot of that in the Spring and Fall!) Ocassionally, she would find a beast beyond her help. Usually the work of a predator or a forgotten hunting trap. Her mother taught her how to help them. How, if a poultice or potion couldn't help, there was no shame in ending their suffering with a blade. She taught her to make it quick. Make it painless. She liked to help all the creatures. It made her feel special. She bet the townschildren didn't help them.

It was time to leave. She was a grown woman who could take care of herself. Mother and Papa could take care of each other. She knew they would be alright. It was time to see the world. It was time to leave the stares and jeers from the town. It was time to leave. 


End file.
